Never Until Oreos
by Bagatelle
Summary: Rubber boots, crunching through snow, running to her dad’s car while he ran to his mom’s, and they never looked the other way until the Oreos. It was nice, to not look. Nice to hate her. Nice for her to hate him. Cartman tries not to remember.


It's been a long-ass goddamn time.

I loved writing this pointless drabble. I don't think I'm going to finish TAT, though.

* * *

**Never Until Oreos**

A South Park fanfiction by Bagatelle

_Nice,_ he thinks. _Fuckin' weird. But nice._

He sits off to the side, his butt half-buried in snow from two days ago. Melting. Wet. Soaking through layers. Kenny peeks at the Snickers bar clutched greedily in his hammy fist every now and again, listening to the wrapper and the lips and teeth, _crack, smack, crunch,_ and Stan and Kyle making gentle fun of Bebe for tripping during second period and flashing her panties.

"Fuck you!" she screams, blushing, ashamed. They laugh, and Kenny laughs, too, muttering something to the effect of _I wish you would_ into his parka hood and laughing a little harder. Cartman's watery eyes stay focused, distracted. He eats his Snickers bar, his expression dull and nonplussed. His gaze moves across the schoolyard, in time with a short, slender figure. Her black bangs pulled out of her face with barrettes, Wendy stomps through the snow in new galoshes—purple, to match her coat, already covered in mud and ice—to grab Bebe's arm and tell her that she'll miss the bus if she stays there any longer. Bebe flips the bird at the four boys, and Kenny blows her an odd, mittened kiss, three of them still laughing under their breath. Kyle glances at Cartman, somewhat surprised by his silence, saying nothing for a moment or two. Then, words.

"Butters told us you tried to get him to eat dog shit yesterday," Kyle states nonchalantly. Cartman blinks, then grunts.

"Yeah."

He had gone to a lot of trouble to disguise it, too. It was really a clever plan. He had flattened it, frozen it, cut it into a Hershey-bar shape, wrapped it in tinfoil, and given it to Butters. The entire process had taken nearly two days. Cartman looks at Kyle, bored. "I told him it was chocolate. What's it to you, Jew?"

"Didn't you know?" Stan asks, ignoring Cartman's question. "Butters swore off chocolate two weeks ago, after Craig tricked him into watching 2 girls 1 cup." Kenny snorts. Cartman's eyes are dull again, not listening. Stan frowns and looks at Kyle, disappointed in a weird way. "…Well, come on, guys. You heard Wendy. We'll miss the bus."

"Right," Kyle and Kenny say.

The four of them get up and chase after the girls at four different speeds, water dripping off of the bottoms of their coats and the seats of their pants, the wrapper from Cartman's Snickers bar left in the snow by the building.

The bus is warm. They slide into their regular seats, and Cartman leans against the window, pushing Kenny into the aisle when their legs accidentally touch. In the seat behind them, Tweek fidgets, and Craig lets out an audible scoff. Kids are talking all down the rows, the girls' voices, quiet, at first, in the back row.

It's Friday. Wendy says something about a sleepover, and the other girls get excited. High-pitched words and phrases, intermingling with Clyde's conversation with Tolken, and Butters' whistling, and Jimmy stuttering out something _impuh-p-p-p-portant_ to Timmy.

_Makeovers._

_Movies._

_Pizza._

_Ice cream._

_Double Stuf Oreos._

Cartman doesn't move, and there's no sign of grief, no feeling of regret. The only thing he feels is deep, deep inside: a fragment of a motion, a soft grimace in his stomach, but maybe it's just some fat moving, and not a thought of a long time ago. Not a memory of the library, or of politics or sexual tension.

He shifts in his seat again as the bus starts to move. _Purple_, he thinks, and regrets it. The color fills his mind, a weird bruise, covering thoughts of how to make Butters pay for not falling for his last trick. Covering thoughts of Guitar Hero, of pissing Kyle off, and of excuses for not doing his homework. Rubber boots, crunching through snow, running to her dad's car while he ran to his mom's, and they never looked the other way until the Oreos. It was nice, to not look. Nice to hate her. Nice for her to hate him. It was weird to look back. Wrong. And he hates that looking back…was kind of nice, too, in its own way.

_Nice. Fuckin' weird. But nice._

_Goddamnit._

Kenny farts, and half of the bus erupts in laughter while the other half screams. The window fogs beneath Cartman's breath, and he draws in it with his finger, elbowing Kenny back into the aisle.


End file.
